Perchance To Dream
by everybetty
Summary: John’s ATA gene brought him a new life in the Pegasus Galaxy. Now it may be the very same thing that takes his life away completely. ShepWhump with Rodney and Team plus special guest stars.
1. Chapter 1 of 2

This was written for the secret Santa exchange over on LJ (link can be found in my bio). And yes, I'm aware it's February. I am the last straggler, but there are a number of wonderful fics there for you to peruse, and I urge you to do so. Takes place S5 endish time. Spoilers through then; to be more specific would ruin the story, sorry! Sheppard and Rodney friendship plus the team, natch, and some special guest stars. Will post the conclusion tomorrow; at almost 20k I didn't want to make it too big a chunk to bite off. Oh, and it's ShepWhump! duh :) If you've read _anything_ I've written, that's a given. Thanks as always for reading and I hope you enjoy it. Props to my two cheerleader cum betas, Kristen999 and Negolith, without whom this fic literally would not have been written. Rated PG-13 for a few curse words.

* * *

_Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer  
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,  
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,  
And by opposing end them? — To die, to sleep, —  
No more; and by a sleep to say we end  
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks  
That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation  
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; —  
To sleep, perchance to dream: — ay, there's the rub… W.S. Hamlet (III, i, 65)_

---S---G---A---

"That was, without a doubt, the worst mission, ever."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Rodney," John sighed.

"No wraith," Ronon grunted from behind them.

"And no Michael or his _creations_," Teyla chimed in.

"Yeah, and no life sucking bugs, Replicators, body swapping, forced nudity, torture-"

"Yes, yes. All good arguments," Rodney grated out. "Fine. It was the worst mission that didn't include any of those things, and really? You had to bring up the nudity thing again?"

"It was part of a long-ass list, is all," John said with a smirk. "I will agree that it was a crappy–"

"Crappy? A particularly colorful and wholly inadequate way of describing that…"

"Crap?" John said, fighting and losing a grin.

Rodney lifted, barely, an arm heavily laden down with mustard yellowy grey muck. He lowered his nose a half-inch and grimaced. "It even smells like-"

"Crap, Rodney. Let's keep it PG, 'kay?"

But Rodney wasn't altogether wrong. About the smell or how rotten the mission had turned out. John shivered, then wriggled uncomfortably in the pilot's seat.

The…muck… mud… whatever ninety percent of the planet's surface was comprised of coated each of the bedraggled team members from head to toe. And the smell- the stench… gah. It was worse than what he'd been hit with during Torren's last diaper change. And the appearance wasn't all that dissimilar.

With a long sigh and a swipe of a slightly less mud covered back of his hand across his mouth he shifted again. The mud was apparently everywhere. He rolled his head on his neck, fighting a headache and wishing he could just pull the jumper up to his quarters and head straight for a long shower and bed. Sleep had been elusive for the last week or so; he'd fall asleep when his head hit the pillow only to awaken a few hours later, wide-eyed and staring at the ceiling. He'd tried putting in extra running time, cutting back on the coffee, and even tried warm milk the night before but nothing had worked. But after a physically exhausting and mentally numbing day like today had been, he was certain he'd sleep like a baby. And the idea of it put a smile on his face despite the everywhere mud.

--S--G--A--

The little smile grew as they disembarked from the jumper to a wide-eyed crew. He knew they must've been a sight to see; four mud creatures slurping and sloshing their way out the back. He hooked a thumb at the craft and nodded at the team leader. "Hey, Granville, she needs a little extra detailing before she'll be usable again."

"Yes, sir," the sergeant answered with a half-hearted salute and a dismayed grimace at the state the craft was in.

The sight of Jennifer Keller at the entrance to the infirmary, arms folded, flanked by nurses in hazmat gear, wiped the smile completely off his face.

Before he could protest, Rodney shouldered his way through, coming to a dripping stop in front of the doctor. "What's with the getups? If there'd been a contaminant the city sensors would've locked us down before we got past the jumper bay."

"A contaminant, Rodney?" Jennifer said with raised eyebrows. "Have you _smelled_ yourselves?"

"Oh, I'm sorry if we _offend_, Jennifer. Just give us our checks so I can go soak for a millennium in my tub."

"Nope, nuh uh. There is no way you four get anywhere near my pristine infirmary in that… state. Gah! That stuff is…" She waved a hand in front of her wrinkled nose then turned the hand into the go signal for the nurses. "Decon showers first. Not up for any further discussion," she added at Rodney's opened mouth. "Go."

John sighed but nodded at the team. A hot shower in his quarters was number one on his wish list right now, followed closely by his head on his pillow and an extra blanket for good measure. A cold, chemical-filled shower… not so much. But he allowed himself to be herded into the decon, scrubbed and then scrubbed some more. The water was tepid at best and the brushes left his flesh pink and raw, but as he donned the scrubs handed to him, he had to admit that it did feel better to be rid of the stench even if it had left him colder than before. The fumes had been noxious to the point of giving him a headache.

In fact, sitting on the gurney, feet swinging as he waited for his nurse, John contemplated the flat thing that passed for a pillow, picturing himself curling up, closing his eyes…

"Sorry for the wait, Colonel."

He smiled at Lt. Harrison and stuck out his arm, figuring the faster they were done, the sooner he could get done.

"Oh, you are in a hurry," the nurse grinned. "Well, I'll be quick."

And she was. Jennifer came in as the thermometer was being pulled from his ear, picking up the chart pad and giving it a quick, almost offhand perusal.

"Huh. You cold, sir?" Harrison asked as she noted down his temp.

"Immersion in freezing muck and forced dunking in a decon'll do that to you, Lieutenant," John said with a wry look.

Jennifer rolled her eyes. "Thought it was bad enough hearing it from Rodney. You know, I'm still getting calls from all over, people finding the trail you left from the jumper bay."

John scratched at his nose and smirked as Harrison showed Jennifer the thermometer.

"96.1? Is this right?" Jennifer asked with a frown.

"Well, I might still have cold shower water in my ear," John replied with a slap of the butt of his hand against his temple.

Jennifer placed her hand on his wrist, then on his cheek. "You are cold. Cadence, could you grab the colonel a blanket?"

"Jeez, Doc," John sighed as he slipped off the gurney. His cause was lessened slightly by the wince as his bare feet hit the cool infirmary tile. "I'm headed to bed. I hang around any longer and you'll be sticking an IV in me."

"Warmed saline _would_ help," Jennifer replied with a sly smirk. "Okay." She checked her watch and nodded. "You heading to the mess? If you are—"

"Nope. Not hungry. Cold, tired, but not hungry. If you see the gang, tell 'em I've settled down for a long winter's nap."

"Sounds like someone's taking the Christmas spirit a little too literally. And early."

"I'll let you know if visions of sugarplums dance in my head. Whatever the hell they are."

---S---G---A----

Not even bothering to think on the lights, John made his way to his bathroom, stripped off the scrubs and stepped into the shower. Thanking the Ancients again for their attention to personal comfort, he nudged the water hotter, standing under the hot spray until his skin felt boiled; but at least he'd lost the chill of earlier.

Minutes later he emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, a towel slung around his waist, and another covering his shoulders. With a groan he sat down on his bed, looked at the clock and considered maybe it was a little early for sleep. He had paperwork and a football game loaded for viewing and if he put the game off to another day he knew there'd be no way of staying unspoiled for too much longer.

But his heavy eyes and the draw of his pillow were too much. He dried his hair quickly and brusquely, tossed the towels in the hamper and donned a soft tee and flannel boxers before peeling back the blankets and rolling himself into a cocoon of cotton and wool.

Two hours later, after repeated pillow fluffings, checks of the bedside clock and flipping from side to side, John finally gave up and thought on the lights.

Pillows jammed behind him, blanket pulled up to his neck, he grabbed his laptop and dug through his drawer for some power bars and an only slightly soft apple he'd stored there while the game loaded up.

* * *

"You know, for someone who slept for-" Rodney checked his watch with a smirk- "What, eleven hours? You look like something my cat dragged in."

"Shuddup, McKay," was the decidedly surly response he got.

"Oh, you wound me. Seriously. What's wrong? You could pack socks in the bags under your eyes."

John glared red-shot eyes through heavy lids. "Can it. Can't a guy just eat breakfast in peace without derisive comments about his appearance?"

"Why is McKay making comments about your appearance?"

Rodney looked up to see Ronon approaching with a tray heaped with breakfast enough to feed at least three grown men.

"I was merely observing that Sheppard looks like nine miles of bad road," Rodney replied, his eyes pinned on a muffin perched precariously atop the mound of food.

"We only did four miles and it was our normal route," Ronon grunted, then slapped Rodney's hand as it reached for the muffin.

"Ow! What?"

"You were grabbing for--"

"No, not the muffin. Please, it wasn't like I was being stealthy. I mean, 'what?' as in what did you say?"

"You still have mud in your ears, McKay?"

Rodney rolled his eyes but surreptitiously wiggled a finger in one ear. "No." He glanced over at John. The clearly exhausted man's head rested in the palm of his hand- the only thing holding the precarious position aloft- with his elbow on the tabletop.

"No, I just can't believe you guys ran this morning is all. Looks like Sheppard was on the Bataan Death March instead of a jog."

"Shuddup, McKay," came a muffled rejoinder.

"Yeah, you used that witty remark already. Seriously. Did you sleep at all last night?"

John dropped a tired hand, swiped up a banana and began dejectedly peeling it. "Just a little insomnia. Hey, I caught the MAC title game. Buffalo knocked Ball State outa the bowl…"

With a scowl the pilot took a bite from the fruit. "Talking to the only two guys in the city who don't know or care what I'm talking about," he said around a full mouth.

"Gentlemen…"

Rodney scooted over as Teyla joined them, bouncing Torren on her knee.

"Wow, you look like Sheppard." He waved a finger under his eyes. "A matched set of luggage."

"Torren is breaking in new teeth," Teyla replied with an aggrieved sigh, but she quickly turned an affectionately stern smile at the baby as she chucked him under the chin. "It makes him most disagreeable."

"That what's bothering you, Sheppard? Or is it diaper rash?" Rodney smirked.

At the baleful glare he held up a hand. "Yeah, I know. Shuddup, McKay."

"Actually, John… Rodney is right. You do look tired."

"Okay, okay," John huffed as he threw down his banana peel. "News brief. I couldn't sleep last night. End of story."

"We can go for another run tonight," Ronon offered. "Maybe tire you out?"

"Tired enough, big guy, but thanks," John replied. "What's everyone got on tap for the day?"

Rodney knew a change of subject when he heard one, and though he was tempted to call the man on it, he began a lengthy description of the prank he had planned for the unfortunate geologist in the office next door to his who played his music too loudly, and refrained from commenting as he saw John's head fall back into his hand and his eyes close.

* * *

"Well, was this mission better than the last?" Jennifer asked as the team walked in. "You smell … um, marginally better."

"Ha ha," Rodney huffed as he sagged onto the gurney and began stripping off his vest. "You try a forced march in the middle of the Mojave in July and then we can talk."

John sat down wearily and kicked back on his own neighboring gurney. "Ah, buck up, McKay. It was maybe ninety there. Nothing compared to the Sistan Basin."

"Yes, we all just love it when you remind us of your _time in Afghanistan_. I'm not GI Joe, remember? You are."

"No, McKay," John sighed, his heart only half in the jabs. "You're much more of a Ken doll. Nothing between--"

"Gentlemen!" Jennifer piped in. "I can see you're all in fine spirits. I'd almost rather have you mud covered than like this."

"Sorry, Doc," John said ruefully. "Just a little--"

"Cranky. The colonel's like an overtired toddler right now. He needs a bottle and a diaper change."

"Cram it, McKay," John growled with real anger that surprised him- a little.

"See? A few nights without sleep and he's been reduced to this," Rodney responded with waving hands.

John steamed as he saw Jennifer turn appraising eyes on him.

"No sleep for how long, Colonel?"

Rubbing at the back of his neck, John debated how honest to be with her. It was just a little insomnia - nothing to get her fussing over. But at this point he wasn't above looking for a little bit of pharmaceutical help.

Best bet. Shave some time off. "Four nights."

"Four?" Jennifer's eyebrows rose to her hairline. Good thing he didn't tell her how long it'd really been.

"Come on," Jennifer said with a crooked finger. John sighed but slid down off the gurney and followed her deeper into the infirmary. But not before mouthing, 'you're a dead man' to Rodney.

He heaved himself onto the bed and waited while Jennifer gave some orders to Harrison. No doubt to drain off a few vials of blood and other fluids amongst other treats.

"So," Jennifer started as she pulled the curtain. "What's up?"

"Nothing. Just a little insomnia. No biggie."

"When we say four nights without sleep, are we talking…"

"No sleep. Zip. Nada."

"Ookay. Maybe not a biggie but not a smallie either. Usually when people say they got 'no sleep' they really mean they tossed and turned, slept but woke frequently or after a time."

"No means no, doc. Bedside clock and the up to date paperwork along with three filled Sudoku books and the whole set of WWII DVDs I finished can attest to that."

"Something on your mind?"

"Nothing more than the usual," John sighed. "The whole galaxy hating us, the continuing travails and tribulations of the Todd Problem. Supplies. What to get Woolsey for Christmas."

At the last Jennifer laughed. "Bosses are tough. When I first started I bought Carson a bottle of whiskey. _Irish_ whiskey as it turned out. I had no idea. If I have a light beer I get - well, anyway. So… same old same old. Something else going on? Headaches, pain?"

"Headache now, yeah. But it goes away with Tylenol. No, I really have no idea. I tried stopping coffee after two, then noon. Then I cut it all out except for my eye-opener. And I've gotta tell you, one cup ain't putting much of a dent in it. I tried workouts, hot showers. Warm milk, which is just - gah."

"Well, you've already tried most of the tricks I have in my bag. Let's give you a go over, shall we?"

"You know I live for it, doc," John sighed as he pulled off his shirt.

----S---G---A----

"So what's the verdict, doc?" John asked, now dressed and leaning against the doorway to her office. He rubbed his fists against his itchy eyes and got caught mid-yawn as she turned from her computer.

"Not guilty," she smiled. "Notice I didn't say innocent. There's nothing wrong that I can find. Your temp is still low, which is weird since you just got back from the Mojave as Rodney put it. The rest of the team was all mildly hyperthermic but you're actually still on the low end of normal, which probably means you'd be even lower without the tropical vacation."

"You saying I'm cold, doc? You wound me," John mocked with a hand over his heart.

"Actually," she smirked back, "it's normal for the body to slow down a bit and conserve when sleep deprived." She picked up an amber bottle and handed it to him. "Try one of these tonight. No operating heavy machinery," she mock instructed with a waved finger. "And yes, that means jumpers. I'm grounding you tomorrow til we see how this works out. And no whiskey, Irish or otherwise. Not even one of your secret stash of Stellas either. This stuff is strong."

Of course, being told he couldn't have one made him think wistfully of how a cold beer would taste but he nodded dutifully and gestured with the bottle. "I'm taking these on a full stomach, doc. I'm starved and there's roast beast for dinner tonight."

"Roast b--"

"Best not to ask. Save you a seat?"

"I uh, think I'll have a salad in my office, Colonel. But thanks. And say hi to the Sandman for me."

---S---G----A---

John patted a belly full of beast and a side of what passed for potatoes and let out a generous belch in the privacy of his quarters. He'd managed to stay awake through dinner and Rodney telling a really lengthy joke that involved knowledge of esoteric physics. Radek had sneered at the punch line, then muttered something in Czech before sweeping up his tray in a huff and walking out. John had managed a weak grin before picking up his own tray and following suit. The amber bottle beckoned with the promise of a full eight hours of much needed sleep. Hell, maybe even ten. He was grounded anyway and he badly needed a re-charge.

He began pulling off his Henley, then shivered as the air hit his full belly. So he changed into sweatpants, hurriedly crawled under the covers and huddled there for a minute, waiting until the shudders he was suddenly wracked with subsided. His hand still had a slight tremor as he grabbed up a bottle of water and the pills.

His fingers were numb with cold. Damn childproof top. He finally managed to fumble the bottle open and let the small yellow pill sit on his tongue as he cracked open the water. With a hasty gulp he swallowed it down, put both of them back on the bedside table, not even taking the time to close them up, so he could pull his hands back in under the covers.

What the hell? It felt like his quarters were literally freezing. With another curse he threw back the covers, yelped as his feet hit the floor and stumbled over to the thermostat. His eyes burned and he rubbed them roughly before peering at the readout. 68. He normally liked his quarters a little cooler, usually bumping the heat down further for sleeping, but now it felt arctic.

He practically dove back into bed and snatched up his earpiece and shoved it in place before pulling the covers to his chin.

"McKay!"

A moment later he heard Rodney's peeved voice in his ear, cafeteria chatter in the background. "I thought you were supposed to be in la la land."

Ignoring the jibe, John barked, "Is there something wrong with the temperature controls?"

"No. I mean, no. No, I would've been alerted if there were any problems. Why?"

"Because my quarters are frickin' freezing, that's why."

"Hold on a second…"

John huddled tighter while he waited, resting his head back on his pillows, closing his weary eyes.

Then it hit him and he sighed. Jennifer told him he was cold and why. And it had nothing to do with the temperature controls in his quarters. If he hadn't been so half-mad with exhaustion it would've occurred to him first.

He snuck a hand out of the covers and tapped his ear with a sigh. "Rodney…"

"God! You're so impatient! I haven't even had time to ring your chime."

"My what?"

Then his door alert chirped and he shook his head, knowing he was about to be confronted with a pissed off physicist shortly.

"Come in," he said as he thought the door open.

Rodney came storming in, data pad and sensor tool in hand.

"You really think it's cold in here?" he started as he headed for the thermostat. "I thought you liked it like an icebox in here anyway? You said all that time in McMurdo made you _immune to the cold_," he continued snarkily. "You always whine when you come to my quarters and say it's too hot, but the human body works best when it's kept at a nice cozy 75." He had the panel off and a sensor stuck in it before John could even say anything.

"It's reading 68, just like it says," Rodney said as he turned around and got his first real look at John.

"My god, you're really cold."

"My thermostat is broken."

"No, it isn't. I told you I just—"

John tapped his head. "This one. Sorry, McKay. Keller told me it's normal. Conserving energy or something. I'm just… sorry, I'm just not firing on all cylinders right now."

"Oh." Rodney dropped the data pad to his side. "Really? Just from a little insomnia?"

"I haven't slept in almost a week, Rodney," John muttered as he snuggled in deeper. "But the doc fixed me up with some stuff so… sorry again about the false alarm."

"Yes, well. You actually saved me from having to listen to Pullman talking about the applications of some new exotic mildew they discovered in the lower levels. Get that man talking on mold and I …"

John looked pointedly, if a bit blearily at him. "Right. Keeping you from your appointment in the Land of Nod. Fine. Sleep tight. Bedbugs and all that. Night."

"Night, Rodney. Thanks again."

He got a hand wave as Rodney left his quarters; he waited politely for the doors to whoosh shut before thinking off the lights, pounding at his pillow and hunkering down for a hopefully lengthy night's sleep.

---S---G---A---

Three hours later John had gone through a few hundred sheep, mentally reorganized every team roster, struggled though the names of all his teachers, even for the barely noticed college classes like Sociology 101 where he was one of four hundred nameless faces in a lecture hall and he'd managed just enough attendance and the attentions of a cute and brainy girl in his row to pass the final.

He'd tried prime- not prime with himself but his normally razor sharp math skills had vanished with what he figured had to be a thousand brain cells that had died from lack of sleep.

His blood felt like ginger ale in his veins. Every time he felt like he was just… there. At the edge of falling over the precipice into sleep, his eyes would pop open and the clock would taunt him with its glowy green and slowly increasing digits.

He picked up the bottle of sleeping pills, thought the light up enough to make out the label. The tiny black print was a blurry smear that even squinting wouldn't make clear. "Damn it!" He threw the bottle down, only remembering he'd left it open as he heard the skitter of the pills as they spread across the floor.

With a groan he rolled over, flipped his pillow and pulled the blanket up tighter, tucking it in around his back and legs where it felt like a nor'easter was blowing in.

This is stupid! He was exhausted to the core of his being. Why the hell couldn't he sleep? Sleep was one of the things he did best. As a kid he'd exhaust himself with running, playing ball and working on the ranch. High school meant sports and more sports and then girls. Working to earn his first car. And more girls. College was more of the same and he slept like a rock every night. Even in the service the guys would all rag on him because he was the first to hit the bunks at night. And though his service and the particular… peculiarities of his work meant he'd been forced to forgo many a night's sleep, he'd developed the ability to catnap and recharge whenever needed. Cold dark cell, boring SGC meeting, long jumper trip or twenty minutes on paperwork days; he could always catch enough sleep to keep him going when needed.

_This stuff is strong_. Isn't that what Keller had said?

Okay. Miracles of medicine do your stuff. He cleared his mind of everything but a black, star-filled sky. Pictured himself alone in the jumper. Nothing but the vastness of space in front of him. He held that image, felt himself flying in peace and quiet, the only light from the pinpoint stars around him and the soft glow of the panel. His heavy lids closed down tighter and he felt his body melt into the mattress. It was working. It was working. It … his eyes sprang open and he stared at the clock. Ten minutes had passed. And he was wide-awake again.

* * *

"No, seriously," Rodney mouthed around a bite of donut and mouthful of coffee. "What do you want for Christmas?"

"Rodney, I told you." Jennifer put her own donut down and wiped at the glaze on her lips with a paper napkin. "It's not my job to tell you. The whole idea behind the gift-"

"It's the thought, yeah, yeah. Look. I'm _thinking_ of you by asking what you want. Trust me. I am terrible at giving gifts. Especially to women."

"Give a lot of gifts to women, do you, Rodney?" Jennifer asked with a mischievous twinkle.

"Ha ha. I have bestowed my fair share of gifts on my fair share of women, I'll have you know. But I've noticed over the years that most of my romances seem to break up in January. You could practically flowchart it."

At her raised eyebrows Rodney sighed. "I said _practically_. Oh, come on! It's not like I can just schlep to the mall and buy whatever's in the Victoria's Secret window—"

"Victoria's Secret, Rodney? Do I look -- no wonder the women are fleeing by January if you think every one of them could be made happy by some expensive piece of dental floss shoved up their -- you know. Stuff like that is uncomfortable, impractical, and designed to make only the guy happy."

"What's wrong with that?"

Rodney winced as soon as the words had left his mouth. Even he knew it had been the wrong thing to say.

But before she could utter the stinging retort perched on her lips the sound of rapid footsteps approaching had them both turning their heads.

John stood in the doorway. Actually he more leaned against the frame, clutching the wood with clawed fingers.

His face was pale, his dark morning beard standing out in stark contrast and matched only by the shadows under his eyes. His hair was messier than usual and the disheveled and wrinkled combination of turtleneck, heavy sweats and half-laced combat boots made him look like a man on the edge.

"Sheppard…" Rodney whispered as he half-rose from his seat. "What the—"

John's face contorted into a sickly smile. "Good joke, doc."

Jennifer gave the man a slow, appraising look. "What joke, Colonel?" she asked softly. It occurred to Rodney that they were both treating him like an easily spooked wild animal.

"What? You think I don't know?" John continued with a tilt to his head. "You think I was making it up? Or it was all in my head?"

"Colonel … John. I don't know what you're talking about, but why don't you sit down before—"

"No! No, I don't want to sit down! I want to sleep! And you give me placebos??"

"What?" Rodney saw Jennifer's face go pale as she shook her head. "Colonel… the pills I gave you were real. And strong. Are you saying they didn't work?"

John barked out a laugh. "Do they look like they worked? This was all a big joke, right? You and McKay can chuckle about how you tricked me?"

Jennifer's eyes flickered over to her computer desktop then she stood slowly from her stool. "Colonel it's almost 0800. Are you saying you never fell asleep at all last night?"

"Does it look—" John's words faltered and he sagged against the doorframe. "I don't -- I don't understand…" His voice trailed off as a hand covered his face. "It's a joke, right? You can tell me. It has to be a joke. A giant, cosmic joke… right?"

Jennifer stepped over and placed a tentative hand on John's shoulder, leaving it there even after he noticeably flinched.

Rodney locked eyes with her in silent questioning but she just shook her head at him and gestured for a hand.

"Yes, it's all a joke, Colonel," Rodney said in an attempt at his normal acerbic tone. "Ha ha, did you hear the one where Sheppard got no sleep?" He stood and eased John away from the doorframe then guided him with Jennifer's help to the stool he'd vacated.

Jennifer was already tapping at her ear, turning her head to mutter quiet instructions while Rodney just stood aghast at the man literally falling apart before his eyes.

John was slumped on the stool, his fingers knitted into his hair and pulling. Pulling with a painful looking fervor that made Rodney's head ache just looking at him.

"So that's the secret of the hair, huh? That works for you?" he asked feebly.

But John made no response. He just kept muttering about it all being a cosmic joke.

Marie showed up, striding in with clear urgency but coming to a stuttering halt when she noticed John sitting there. Jennifer smiled but bent to speak quietly into Marie's ear. "I want a full rainbow drawn and a UA. And start an IV."

Marie nodded, then crept closer and tapped John gently on the shoulder. "Colonel?"

John looked up; his eyes were glazed, and he looked like a man who'd been on a three-day bender.

"Colonel?" Marie tried again. "Come on, I'll get you taken care of. Can you walk?"

He nodded mutely at her and rose unsteadily but shook off her hand from his arm. Instead he shuffled like a zombie beside her into the back of the infirmary.

Rodney waited until they were out of sight before wheeling on Jennifer. "What the hell is going on with him? You didn't really –"

"No!" Jennifer said, clearly appalled. "I gave him real medication that should've been enough to knock out a horse. Or a pony at least. Rodney, I have no idea what's causing this, but I'll run some more tests and –"

"I'll check the Ancient database," Rodney finished with a sigh. "And maybe run some diagnostics on the city… has anyone else reported anything like this?"

Jennifer considered for a minute. "No, not to this degree. Insomnia kinda comes with the territory around here," she said ruefully. "But I'm talking a few restless nights, not four or five nights without sleep."

"It was a week."

"Sorry?"

"Sheppard told me it was a week. Is that- is that even possible? Don't people die after eleven days without sleep?"

Jennifer smiled and rubbed his arm affectionately. "That's a myth, Rodney. I'm not saying it doesn't have a significant physical and psychological effect - you can see that for yourself," she added quietly. "But there are well-documented cases where men went much longer without sleep. And once they resumed normal sleeping patterns they were fine, without lasting effects."

She gave his arm a squeeze and turned to head back into the infirmary. "You can use my computer for your work, if you like. You know…"

She meant he could stick around. And Rodney loved her just a little more for it. "Yeah, sure," he said with practiced indifference. "May as well save myself the walk. And there're more donuts here…"

* * *

By the time Marie had handed him a set of scrubs and a dribble cup, John was mentally kicking himself for his outburst. He knew there was no way Keller would've ever played a trick on him like that. Rodney… maybe. The physicist had been in rare form lately. With the quiet after Todd's departure, Rodney had found his often idle hands and evil genius brain turning to stupid and annoying pranks. John had of course given back as good as he'd gotten.

Desperation had offered the only option he could think of, but the look on Keller's face had taken it away, and it left him foundering.

His mind couldn't see any other reason for it. Sleep is a basic, fundamental act. Like breathing. So why the hell was he finding it so impossible to just shut down and check out for a night?

With a sigh he wiped a shaky hand down his stubble-coarse face and turned to look at himself in the mirror. Jesus, but he looked like the walking dead. Like something out of George Romero central casting. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes, _like two pissholes in the snow_ as his old man would've said.

_Only you could fuck up something as simple as sleeping, Johnny my boy._

Numb fingers clawed at his turtleneck and he cringed as the air hit his flesh. Goose pimples covered his arms and he rubbed at them briskly before shoving the scrub top over his head, then again after the thin cotton shirt was in place. BDUs folded up with the turtleneck, he did his business and washed his hands, taking the opportunity to splash his face with water, not that it did any good to clear the cobwebs.

Marie was waiting outside for him. She was immediately at his side, taking an arm, and if that wasn't testament to how bad he must look…

"Did you—"

"It's on the tank," he brusquely answered. "Have fun with it."

"Always do," Marie smiled as she eased him over to a bed. She eyed him appraisingly then cocked her head. "Those scrubs aren't much. You want a blanket?"

"You're the light of my life, Marie," John replied as he shivered again. "Can you make it two?"

"Of course, Colonel. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

"Wouldn't think of it," he said with a long sigh as he lay back against the upraised gurney and closed his burning eyes. "Maybe I'll nap while you're gone. Ha."

He jumped at the sound of the curtain rings only a second later.

"Colonel, you look like you're getting comfortable," Jennifer said as she pulled the curtain closed behind her.

"I'm sure you're about to put an end to it, too," he muttered grumpily, but he sat up and attempted to keep his eyes open. "Hey, look… I'm sorry about the –"

Jennifer raised a hand and shushed him. "Sleep deprivation explains everything away, Colonel. I'm actually amazed you've been able to hold it together as well as you have."

"Yeah, well, that's not too well, doc. Seriously. What the hell do you think is going on? This isn't- this can't be normal."

Jennifer put her stethoscope into place and gestured for him to lift his scrub top. "Nope. Far from it."

"Way to make a guy feel at ease," he muttered, wincing as the cool disc hit his chest.

"To answer your other question," she continued as she moved the bell around, "I can honestly say I have no idea."

"Still not working, doc."

Jennifer dropped the scope and met his eyes. "I have no idea, _yet_," she said firmly. "But contrary to what Rodney would have everyone believe, I didn't pull my MD from a Cracker Jack box. Give me a little bit of time and I'll have you sawing logs again, okay?"

John settled the scrub top back in place and hugged his arms around himself. "Yeah, okay," he answered softly.

Marie came in carrying a pile of blankets and he quickly grabbed the top one and wrapped it around his shoulders. "Ooh, warm. You rock, you know that, Marie?"

"Always nice to hear, Colonel," the nurse said as she draped the other blanket over his legs. Then she pulled several tubes from her smock pocket along with a needle and rubber tubing. "Do I still rock?"

He sighed and stuck out his arm from the warmth of the blanket.

"Aww, no answer," Marie said with a smile as she wiped off a spot in the crook of his elbow with an alcohol pad.

"I'll let you kids have fun and I'll be back" Jennifer said as she typed info into her data pad. "Marie, did he give you a—"

"In the bathroom," John muttered with a blush. Jeez, it was stupid but it embarrassed him anyway.

He let his eyes close as Marie tapped on his arm, wiped the area again, then tapped some more.

"Problems?" he grunted out.

"Can't find a good vein," Marie said distractedly as she concentrated on her job. "I think you're dehydrated."

"Can't be. I must've gone through three bottles of water last night. And I had no problem with the cup thing."

"Huh. All right, let's give this a try."

John flinched as the needle went in; the pain was unexpectedly worse than normal. "Jeez, Marie, you're usually a pro at this."

"Sorry, Colonel." The nurse's voice sounded concerned and he opened his eyes to see her shaking her head.

"Can't get this one." She sighed and pulled the needle out before slapping a cotton ball in place. Then she picked up his hand and began tapping the top of it.

By the time Jennifer returned with a smile that even through his bleary eyes John could tell was completely fake he'd been poked full of several holes and his patience, already thin as the completely ineffective against the cold scrubs he wore, finally wore through.

"Damnit!" he swore at the same time as Marie muttered 'got it!' With practiced hands she taped the IV catheter in place on his right hand and began drawing off what appeared to be a quart of blood into multi-hued tubes.

Jennifer just nodded and chewed her lip in what John recognized as hesitation.

"What?" was all he could muster.

"I was hoping I'd be wrong," she finally said. "But I ran the urinalysis and… You're pre-diabetic."

Of all the things John could have ever expected to hear from a medical professional, this was probably the last on a very - too long - list. "I'm what?"

"Sleep deprivation is known to increase insulin resistance. Your body isn't metabolizing sugars like it should…" She hesitated and chewed again. "Because your body normally takes care of glycolysis while you sleep."

He couldn't help the laugh. He knew it made him sound mad as a hatter but it was all he could respond with. The joke just kept getting better and more surreal.

With a swipe of his face he finally sagged, coughing out one last feeble chuckle. "So, what? I need to start taking insulin?" he asked incredulously.

Jennifer shook her head. "No, no we can manage it right now with a change in your diet and some medication. Look, this is going to right itself once we get you back into a normal sleeping pattern."

"Normal? Doc, there's nothing normal about this situation."

"No… no, there isn't. But give me some time to do a work up and I think a little sedation might be in order."

"More than a little," John sighed. "Can we get through the tests and move on to the sedation part soon?"

Jennifer patted his leg through the blankets. "Very soon. Promise."

* * *

Rodney felt Jennifer's hand on his shoulder before he heard her enter. He gave it a perfunctory pat, then went back to typing feverishly.

"I've run a full diagnostic on everything from weapons to waste management. I found an energy leak in the air conditioning system, but considering it's twenty degrees outside, I don't think it's much of an issue."

Jennifer rubbed her arms reflexively. "It's not that cold out, Rodney."

He sighed heavily. "Celsius. A superior measuring system, but since, of course, we have to do things the American way here…" He sat back from the computer with another sigh. "Christmas back home it'd be below zero." He smiled briefly. "Both Centigrade and Fahrenheit. So. What's up with him?"

She leaned a hip against the desk and took another look at her chart pad. "He's got some issues related to the long-term insomnia, but I can't find anything else." She rolled her head and cracked her neck ruefully. "I had some more tests I can still try but I figure maybe I should just get him to sleep and worry about why later. I set him up in Isolation, away from noise and disruption."

Rodney moved from the chair at her gesture and she pulled up a video feed on the monitor.

The room was dim but John could be seen in bed, curled up on his side, blanket pulled up so high and tight that little was visible beyond dark hair against the pillow. Black wires ran from his head to a monitor next to the bed. "Well, he looks comfy at least," she observed. There was a maternal softness to her voice that Rodney quirked an eyebrow at.

"Comfy? Have you tried sleeping in those beds? Narrow, thin mattress, flat pillows. And the blankets are scratchy," he added.

Jennifer just rolled her eyes and tapped another command into the computer. John's image was replaced by a readout with jagged lines streaming across the screen.

"His brain activity," she pointed out for him.

"Really? He still has some after all this?"

"Not funny, Rodney," Jennifer said. Then her scowl deepened as she continued to watch the screen.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No, it's clearly not nothing."

"Well, beta waves _can_ occur with sedation. But they should be more rhythmic."

"I can catch anything resembling a rhythmic mathematical pattern in my… sleep," Rodney started, then grimaced. "But there's no discernable pattern there that I can see. What does that mean?"

Jennifer shook her head but kept her eyes on the readout. The sharpness had started to ease from the lines, the mountains becoming more gradual rolling hills. She brightened and turned with a smile. "There we go. Theta waves," she gestured with a hand at the screen. "Relaxed and on the edge of sleep. We should see them flatten out to delta soon. Although I can't believe he's managed to fight off the sedation this long."

Rodney snorted. "You're surprised Sheppard is fighting something?"

"True," she smirked. "Well, at least it's confirmation he's as comfortable as he looks. I'm still mystified as to what triggered such a severe case of insomnia. Maybe a neurotransmitter imbalance…"

When she trailed off Rodney hmphed. "Yes, well. You have that look."

"What look?"

"That look that says you have a puzzle and will be terrible company until you solve it."

Jennifer hit him on the arm. "Wonder where I picked it up from? But you're right. I have a lot of work to do. And you—"

"Do as well." Rodney sighed and leaned over to pick up his now cold coffee and the donut half left ignored during his diagnostic.

His eyes glanced at the computer monitor. The rolling hills had become Alps. Sharp and packed so closely together they were almost on top of each other.

"What the- ?"

Jennifer pulled the screen back towards her and gasped. "That's -- he should be completely sedated by now. It's impossible..."

With another click of the mouse she pulled up the video feed.

John was sitting straight up in bed, his knees pulled up, his hands covering his face. When he dropped his hands the glow from the monitor next to him reflected off moisture on his cheeks. Then his fingers knit into his hair on either side of the EEG leads and began tearing again.

Rodney's eyes went wide and his heart dropped. His voice was an awed whisper. "He's wide awake."

* * *

John turned his aching body over and opened his eyes to slits, observing his visitor observing him. Two days of tossing and turning in the hospital bed had his back in knots, and he was getting tired of being remotely stared at to boot.

When he saw the expression on Keller's face he sat up a bit, wincing as he rubbed the back of his neck. "The last time a doctor approached me looking like that I found out I was turning into a bug."

Jennifer didn't crack a smile.

"I got the results of the last brain scan," she replied instead, hugging the data pad to her chest. "You have damage to your thalamus. That's the region of the brain that controls sleep."

"When?"

"When what?"

"When did it happen?" John asked. He had no recollection of hitting his head. And the last few missions he'd been on prior to his problem starting had all been run of the mill and mercifully free of traumatic events. "When, and how did I damage it?"

"It appears that it's been going on for some time. It's not damage the way you're thinking, John."

_Oh, shit._ She only called him John when things were bad.

"It looks like it's been going on for some time. It's a plaque, building up in your brain, ripping… holes, in it."

"If this has been going on for 'some time'," John bit out angrily, "why haven't you picked it up before? I've been scanned head to toe a dozen times this year alone."

"Yes, yes you have," Jennifer replied, taking a half step back in response to his rancor. "For broken bones. Bullets. Foreign entities hitching a ride. The thalamus is a very small area of the central brain. Without cause, there was no reason to ever hone in and look at it. The timetable we have, with your symptoms showing almost a week and a half ago, would show that's when the plaque reached a critical level and began forming the cavities."

He scrubbed his face roughly then dropped his hands to his lap. "So. How do you fix it? Surgery?"

Just the thought of his skull being opened up with a bone saw sent a wave of dizziness over him. The whizzing blade, cutting through --

"--No, John. I'm sorry. There is no surgery that can fix this."

"No…" It him then. Hard. This wasn't going to be fixed. This was… "You can't fix this, can you? You can't fix me."

"I'm sorry, John," was her quiet, almost barely voiced response. "This kind of damage… it only gets worse. I'm trying to find out what's causing it. Maybe if I can find a way to stop it from getting worse, if we can halt its course, we may be able to find a way to-- I'm not sure. Maybe a medical coma. Maybe stasis."

"I'm hearing a lot of maybe's, doc."

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, her head lowered. She couldn't meet his eyes. "I don't have much else to offer you."

"That's… that's great, doc. That's… that's just… just fucking great." He grabbed the IV in his hand and ripped it free, tossed it onto the bed.

"Where are you going?" Jennifer gasped as he slipped off the bed and pulled his boots out from underneath.

"You just said there was nothing you could do for me. So why the hell should I stay here?" He shoved his feet into his boots and tried to ignore the fact that Jennifer was now crying and that his legs were threatening to fold underneath him.

"Please. John, you have a real medical problem that needs supervision. You can't just –"

"Watch me."

* * *

"He's on level 17 of the North Tower."

"How long has he been there, Rodney?" Teyla asked, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Only twenty minutes," Rodney sighed as he put the LSD on the table. "It took him half an hour just to get there, and he used a transporter."

"I do not understand how he still manages to wander so."

Ronon grunted and allowed a small smile. "It's Sheppard. Never underestimate the man."

"But it has been almost two weeks now," Teyla said with obvious dismay. "That long without sleep would bring down the strongest of men."

"When I was running, I went once nine days without sleep. By the time I found a place to hole up I was shaking. Could barely see. He won't be able to keep it up much longer."

"Which is why I do not understand why he isn't in the infirmary. Or at least has someone with him."

"Because he won't stay in the infirmary and he won't let anyone keep him company," Rodney said tiredly. He lifted the LSD and tapped the screen. "He's still moving." He let the detector drop back and turned to meet Teyla's worried visage. "Look, Jennifer finally got him to agree to stop by the infirmary for regular visits and she's got one of these things to follow him with, too. There's a med team on call if needed. Sheppard is just… he's got that whole solitary man thing. Said he doesn't want us to see him… deteriorating."

"Keller have any ideas yet?" Ronon asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I found some records in the database that referenced something similar happening among the Ancients. They though it was a sign that they were close to Ascension. That when the insomnia kicked in that it gave them more time to meditate and do all that… stuff… that they did. Do. Whatever. Jennifer seems to think that as their time… dwindled, that the lack of sleep made them hallucinate. They probably 'saw' things that made them think they were closing in on Ascension. She said, um… she said they enter a state of psychosis. Then a stupor that they never awaken from."

Teyla folded her hands and studied them before looking up. "And does Jennifer think that John is… readying for Ascension?"

Ronon snorted and pushed back in his chair.

"You do not believe in it, Ronon?"

"Doesn't matter what I believe," the big man answered. "Matters what Sheppard believes. And I don't think he's a sit and think about higher things kind of man. He's a man of action, a soldier. A warrior."

Rodney waved his hand, interrupting a philosophical discussion he had no intentions of getting involved in or listening further to. "Doesn't matter. Jennifer has the records from my… near brush with… whatever it was gonna be, and she said his brain waves are actually the opposite of where they would need to be. No, she was more intrigued by the genetic connection."

"Because John carries the gene of the Ancients," Teyla observed. "And—"

"And maybe the gene he got was one of those that caused his condition. Or something like that."

"And if she finds out what the gene thing is doing?" Ronon prompted.

Rodney sighed and picked the detector up. "Who knows. Look, I think we should concentrate on keeping Sheppard alive while Jennifer works her voodoo. We have to sleep, of course, but since Sheppard doesn't, I say we take shifts; make sure one of us is awake at all times."

"If he finds out we're shadowing him…"

"You were a runner for how long?" Rodney bit out. "Don't let him. You and Teyla can both do that stealthy thing."

"Yeah? And you?"

Rodney picked the detector up and sighed. "I've decided on the more direct approach." He tossed the LSD to Teyla and stood from his chair. "Here. It's already activated. Ronon, I'm going to guess—"

"Don't need one."

"Right. I'll take this shift if one of you wants to try and get some sleep. I'm on my second pot of coffee so I should be good for a while. If you need me, apparently I'll be on level 17 of the North Tower."

-----S----G-----A------

John was leaning on the railing, staring off at the grey sea below. A strong wind was blowing, ruffling his hair and the fur around the collar of the coat he wore.

"Looking for whales, Ahab?"

John turned at Rodney's question but shifted his gaze back to the sea without a reply.

"I thought you were cold," Rodney said curtly. It was cooler out here on the balcony where the breeze carried sea spray and Rodney blew on his fingers before shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Wind feels good," John said softly. "On my face. My eyes."

His eyes. The few peeks Rodney had gotten of them had been telling as to how far John had declined. They were sunken and dry, shot through with so much red the white was practically obliterated.

"Yes, and you'll be kicking yourself when you end up with pneumonia. Seriously, can we go in, please? It's cold out here. And I'm Canadian. I know from cold, and this is cold."

John shook his head, never tearing his gaze from the water.

"Oh, for…" Rodney stepped up closer, next to John and looked out at the sea. "What has you so entranced that you'd risk more time in the infirmary? Oh, and speaking of which…" He dug his hand out of his pocket, carrying with it a foil wrapped tube of candy. When he got no response to his statement he poked John in the arm with it.

His attention finally drawn, John turned his head to stare at the proffered item. "Mentos?"

"Yes, Mentos," Rodney sighed. "Don't just stare at them, take the roll."

John reached out with a pale, shaky hand and took it, but said, "I don't want candy, McKay."

"Did you eat breakfast?" Rodney asked with a heavy sigh. "You didn't, did you?" he continued, already knowing the answer. "The meds you're on lower your blood sugar when it's too high. When it's not high enough…"

He waited for John to fill in the answer then waved. "Hello! Hypoglycemia. I can tell you from personal experience that the condition is hellish to say the least. I'm supposed to keep glucose tablets but they only come in fruit flavors I suspect may sometimes have citrus in them and …The point is, you need sugar."

John blinked once, then twice before fumbling at the paper covering. Rodney shoved his hands back in his pockets and fought with himself not to rip the roll away and open it himself. But he breathed a sigh of relief when John finally managed to squeeze a mint into his mouth.

"Chew it. And then another three or four," he instructed shortly. He turned to stare at the sea but kept John in his peripheral vision and nodded as he saw John's jaws working at the chewy candy.

"Looks like Lake Ontario in January," Rodney remarked with a shiver. "God, I hate winter. It's not fair."

_What's not fair, Rodney?_ he mentally answered for the still chewing pilot. "Our old planet didn't have a real winter like this one. I miss the seventy and sunny every day thing we had going."

"Always liked winter," John mumbled around a second candy.

Rodney turned and gave the man an incredulous look. "What could there possibly be to like about winter? Snow, ice, frostbite, slush, salt ruining your pants and shoes. Brushing off your car to go to work, then again before you can go home. And the smell of people jammed together on the TTC, all wet wool and fur and—"

"Snow days."

Now it was Rodney's turn to blink. "Come again?"

John smiled as he closed off the end of the candy roll and handed it back. "Snow days," he repeated.

Rodney just shook his head and scoffed. "Puh-lease. _Every_ day should've been a snow day back home. It just meant another layer, another muffler, a slower trudge to the bus stop and dodging snowballs. I swear, just because I told Mrs. Garrow that Trevor and Ian stole my math homework so they could copy it, it was no reason for turning Phillips Park into a fricking ice grenade battlefield…

He trailed off as he heard an odd sound. His eyes grew wider and he fought a grin to maintain his hurt expression as John continued to chuckle. "Oh, and I suppose you feel I deserved to be a target? I couldn't even move fast… all those layers…" He finally gave up and smiled. "I was like Ralphie's little brother. _I can't put down my arms_," he choked out with a laugh in a fairly good impression from "A Christmas Story".

"It's what I was picturing the whole time, Rodney." He smiled wider. "Randy."

"That's what the kid's name was," Rodney agreed with a remembering nod. Then a particularly strong gust came off the water and he shivered, not failing to notice that John's was more of a full body quake. "Can we _please_ go in now?"

John nodded but it was more his head stuttering on his neck. Another blast of air hit him in the face and he closed his eyes against it as his shaking kicked up another notch.

"Okay, now I'm not asking," Rodney said sternly, placing a hand on John's arm and tugging.

"Y-you got any m-more of those m-mints?" John asked, his eyes still closed. Rodney felt John's weight shift to lean more heavily against the railing. "Think I just n-need m-more sugar."

_No, you need sleep_, Rodney thought but didn't voice. He got a better grip on the slippery fabric of John's coat sleeve, stepping up to the man's side to sneak an arm around his waist. "C'mon. I heard the kitchen was making peanut butter brownies for lunch today. Let's get inside and maybe have a few with some hot chocolate. The kind with those stupid tasteless marshmallow bits in it that you like for some unfathomable reason."

John mumbled something that sounded like 'mom,' then his knees folded and he began slumping to the floor of the balcony.

"Oh, jeez, no, you don't" Rodney groaned as he tried holding the man upright. With his hands both holding onto the now unconscious man he couldn't get one up to his radio but he was reluctant to let him lay on the cold metal beneath them.

"Sheppard! John! Oh, this is so not – "

Suddenly the doors to the balcony slid open and Ronon was there, striding over to lift John seemingly effortlessly into a fireman carry.

"What? How did you know?" Rodney finally stammered out.

"Told you he couldn't keep it up much longer," Ronon grunted as he gently shifted John's weight and began walking towards the doors.

"But how - where?"

"I was being stealthy."

_____________________end part one______________________


	2. Chapter 2 of 2

"So this... this is good, right?"

Jennifer made a notation in her data pad and took another glance at the EEG readout. Before turning with a look that made clear it was far from good.

"He's… he's out, right?" Rodney continued on, wringing his hands and heedless to the look of regret she continued to wear. "He finally fell asleep… he's sleeping… isn't he?"

"No, Rodney. He's just unconscious. His brainwaves are diffuse alpha and beta. It's not sleep; it's a completely different level of brain activity."

"Well, what's the difference?" Rodney sighed out irritably. "It makes no sense, not that I should find it surprising that medical mumbo jumbo fails to adequately explain –"

"Rodney! Just…" Jennifer folded her hands in her lap and gave Rodney a long, appraising look. "Okay. Let's see if I can dumb it down for you."

"Oh, ha ha," he sneered but he took a stool and sat down in front of her, adopted as patient an expression as he could as his hands continued to knit in his lap.

"I know it's been a while since you've used a standard Earth PC but try and picture this. The average user has a PC. He uses it every day, surfs the net, plays games, whatever. And at the end of the night he leaves it up and running until he returns to it the next day. What happens?"

"I guess it depends on his memory capacity, what kind of firewalls he has in place, his –"

"-Rodney. Average Joe computer user. Likes… I dunno… porn and basketball and American Idol. Surfs the net on a PC he bought at Best Buy. Work with me here."

Rodney rolled his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. "He'd have a cache full of cookies, probably a nasty virus and spyware choking his system. And too much time on his hands."

Jennifer smiled but nodded. "And as he continues to use it and never power down, his system continues to add more stuff, slowing everything down to the point where he can't play a game of solitaire without the computer slogging to a halt. Which is why you're supposed to power down your computer all the way on occasion. To allow it to clean itself up, reboot and reset itself for another day's use."

"And Sheppard is the computer. Fine. It's dumb enough. But he's 'down' right now, so why isn't that enough?"

She gave another glance at the monitor. John was a pale face against the green linens. Monitor leads ran from his chest and head to a complicated setup of blinking machinery.

"Because if you only put your computer into standby, when you bring it back up again…"

"Nothing has been fixed or rebooted," Rodney finished for her. "So Sheppard's in standby mode?"

"Pretty much, yeah. You know, Rodney, I've been doing some research, and I think I found something at least… comparable to what's afflicting him. It's called AFFI. Autosomal Familial Insomnia."

"Well, that's good, right?" he tried again, hope springing ever eternal in his pessimistic heart. "You know what it is?"

"I know what it's _like_. I know… I know that it's very similar to this condition known on Earth. Autosomal just means it has a genetic link, familial because it tends to run in families, which makes sense as the genes responsible are passed down."

"And the other F? You called it A_F_FI".

Jennifer smiled wistfully and shook her head. "Always have to be the genius, don't you, Rodney? The other F stands for fatal. Which it always is with the Earth condition."

Rodney flinched but then raised a triumphant finger. "But you said this is only "like" that condition."

"Yes, yes I did. But it's… Rodney, far be it for me to quash this really new for you attempt at optimism, but it's similar enough that … the progression of the disease is similar enough to …"

"But it's _not_. It's not the same. You said it was different." Rodney could feel his face grow warm as he stood from his stool, the metal feet clanking loudly and scraping on the tile as he pushed it away. "Look. You guys figured out how to save me when everything your _research_ showed was that I was done for. We can figure out a way to … reboot… him… or whatever. There has to be an answer."

"Rodney, I haven't given up, far from it," Jennifer said firmly. "In fact, I've called in reinforcements."

* * *

John felt like he was swimming up through oatmeal, and the grit was getting in his eyes, and down his throat, scraping his skin raw and making every motion hell.

And he was fighting. Physically fighting. He thrashed as memories flitted at the edge of his mind. But a voice cut through the haze, and he was so utterly wasted it took him a moment to even recognize it.

"John. John! It's all right. You're safe."

John blinked up at Carson's kind smile. And it made him unfathomably sad. "But you're dead."

Carson's smile only faltered a fraction, and that made new memories rise up and slam him around like he was in a flat spin. "Wait. No, yes. Michael.... What?"

"It's all right, lad. I imagine you're more than a little disoriented. Jennifer called and told me of your… situation. I've come to see if I can lend a hand."

"I'm… I'm sorry, Carson." And he was. For the falter in the man's smile.

"Och, don't worry on it." Carson's hand went to the bed controls and John felt himself rising. The movement made his head swim and he gulped and closed his eyes.

"Easy, lad. Just breathe and you'll reorient."

"Did I… was I …?" It wasn't like waking up from a long sleep. There was no languorous desire to stretch out the kinks and blink himself awake, refreshed and ready to go as he was most mornings. He felt, if possible, more tired than ever.

Then he saw the regret on Carson's face and knew.

"I'm sorry, lad. You were unconscious but I'm afraid you weren't asleep." Carson glanced over and hooked a stool with his foot, pulling it over and settling down next to the bed.

"I know you're probably more than a bit out of sorts. Do you feel up to talking for a wee bit?"

He didn't. Not at all. It was all coming back to him, all at once but in pieces, in snapshot images and bits of conversations. And the set to Carson's cherubic face said that he was gonna hear more than he probably wanted. But he needed answers, choices. A timeline if it was coming to that. So he blinked and rubbed at his gritty eyes and nodded.

He saw Carson glance across his bed and he turned slowly to see that Teyla sat in a chair on his other side. She smiled kindly at him and reached over to grip his wrist.

"I am glad to see you with us once more, John. I thought to keep you company, but I should let you speak with Carson." She rose gracefully, squeezed and released his wrist, and turned to go.

His wrist was cold as he lost her contact and it stirred a response from him. He wanted warmth. He wanted the presence of family. Reassurance and support.

"Teyla?"

She paused and immediately returned to his side, her hand once more on his and the warmth just felt right. "Could you…" God, why did he find it so hard to reach out? "Could you ask them to bring some water?" he finally finished lamely.

Teyla glanced at Carson and then met John's eyes. "As it so happens," she began, completely straight-faced, "there is a fresh pitcher here already." She reached behind him and pulled forward a rolly tray with a plastic pitcher and tumbler. As she poured him a glass she continued, "Actually, I was wondering, John, if my request not be too bold… I would like to stay and hear what Carson has to say?"

She handed him the cup and he took it with a hand shaking with exhaustion and relief. He met her eyes and smiled gratefully. "Thanks. For the water," he added. "You can stay… more the merrier, I always say, right?"

She smirked at him and took his hand in hers as she retook her seat. "Carson? Do you mind?"

Carson was beaming. "Not at all, love. Right. So let me give you a rundown as to what we've figured out so far…"

So it turned out that the gene that had taken him to another galaxy was now possibly going to take his life. Carson had been nothing but upbeat, convinced that they would find a cure and trying to pass on that optimism. But John could read between the lines. It was more what the Scot wasn't saying that was ironically the most telling.

"I don't understand why you can't just put me out," John muttered crossly.

Carson traded loaded looks with Teyla and John felt the hand on his tighten.

"Because it wouldn't do any good, John," Carson said gently.

"It would do _me_ good! I can't … this is torture, Carson."

Carson sighed and slumped on his stool. "John, we had considered the stasis chamber—"

"No."

"John, I know it's not a pleasant thought. But my time in there passed without any-"

"No, Carson," John cut him off, shaking his head and knuckling his eyes. "Been there, done that. I'm not taking the chance I wake up in some future where no one is- where I won't know anyone."

Carson nodded and patted John's blanket covered leg. "Okay, lad. No stasis. For now, Jennifer and I are going to try a regime of sedatives. You won't sleep, I'm afraid, but they will give your body a chance to rest and it should make you more comfortable."

He tossed a smile at Teyla. "Are you staying, love?"

Teyla gave John's hand another squeeze as she nodded, then looked at John. "I believe Ronon will be by when it is time for me to feed Torren. We will keep John company."

"Right then." Carson slapped his hands on his thighs and got up from his stool. "I have a call in to a doctor in Italy. They have a higher incidence of this disease there, passed on through generations. They have a team already working actively on this and their results could come in handy here. We'll set you right, John. And get—" He hesitated then grimaced. "Sorry. I'm so used to telling my patients to get some sleep when I leave them."

John allowed a sickly smile. "No worries, doc. Glad to see you here. Feel better already."

"I can't say I believe you, John. But I promise you we are doing everything in our power to find a cure."

"I know you are," he answered softly. "Thanks."

As Carson left the room John turned to Teyla and gripped her hand tightly before pulling away. "Thanks for staying. But you can go now."

"John, I –"

"I know, Teyla. I'm just not… I think I need to be alone for a bit." His head was spinning with questions and fears and doubts and the ache in his head was growing. The desire to close his eyes and just check out was too much to battle.

Teyla nodded and rose from her chair. "Have faith, John. If not in a higher power, then in Jennifer and Carson. They can work miracles."

"Could use one right now," he muttered as he huddled down onto his side, pulling the blanket up to his chin. His back to the camera that watched his every move. He could feel tears pricking at his eyelids and he knew he'd been right in asking her to leave. "I'll try," he said a little louder, but his voice husky with those as yet unshed tears.

As he heard her footsteps fade he let them fall. Let self-pity and fear and desperation feed them. Sometime later, when he heard someone enter the room, he didn't turn or acknowledge the presence. Stayed buried under the covers, huddled in a ball until he felt the telltale warmth of medication enter his vein. The promised sedative washed over his body and he sighed out a breath and allowed himself to drift.

* * *

Rodney watched the monitor, his hands clenching until his knuckles whitened.

John was shaving, with Harrison's help. His left hand had been taken by an uncontrollable palsy, curled and shaking in his lap. His right had a tremor but, with the nurse's guidance, was drawing the safety razor over the deepening hollow of his cheek.

Rodney knew what it felt like. Knew the treachery of having your body and mind reject your commands, turn on you and leave you a shell of your former self.

But also, in a terrible and yet merciful irony, Rodney's mind had gone before his body, so the latter stages had passed without him being truly cognizant of them. It was only the tapes he'd watched, later- much later- that had shown how far he had declined.

"He's doing better," came a quiet, Scots-accented voice from behind him.

"That's better?" he asked stonily, his eyes still glued to the monitor.

"Aye, it is," Carson sighed as he took the stool next to Rodney. "The sedation is giving us time, Rodney."

"Oh yeah? Time to do what exactly?" he responded bitterly. He turned to look at his friend. Carson's eyes held their own dark shadows and it looked like he hadn't shaven in days.

"Well, for one, I think Jennifer and I have determined the defective gene. And how it's defective which is even more important."

"So what? So you know what's wrong. Unless you have a way to fix it, it sounds pretty useless. Sounds as effective as a post-mortem. We know how he died."

Carson shook his head and ran a hand over his stubble-covered chin. "You know that's not the way it works, Rodney. You can't fix something unless you know what the problem is."

"Fine. And the problem is…?"

"John has a defective gene; it codes for the wrong amino acid and as a result, amyloid plaques have built up over his lifetime in the thalamus, in his brain. I have pinpointed where in the codon the fault lies. And we are working on a gene therapy to repair the defect."

"And people say that _I _speak gibberish. Do you _hear_ yourself?"

Carson smiled wanly and nodded. "It's a bad gene, Rodney. Your research turning up the Ancient record of families affected by this insomnia helped out. See, we know John has the ATA gene, which connects him ancestrally with the Ancients. So I found the defective gene linked to the ATA gene."

Rodney's eyebrows rose. "You… you gave me the gene. You gave a lot of people the gene. Jeez, Carson- you have the next strongest expression. Does that mean--?"

"Settle, Rodney. It's linked congenitally. Getting the single gene therapy doesn't bring the linked one with it. They tend to be… neighbors. They come as a package deal at birth, Rodney," Carson finally said with a sigh. "And it would appear that John got a double dose; the defect appears on neighboring alleles, making the disease progress much more aggressively. Ironically, it may be the linkage that makes John's ATA expression that much stronger. I'll have time to work on that research after I find the cure."

Rodney couldn't help but smile sadly at Carson's irrepressible optimism. He paused, then averted his eyes. "What about you?"

Carson grimaced and stood from his stool. "If I had it… originally… Michael took care of it. I'm good, Rodney. And thanks your concern. But I will be testing the other naturals just to be on the safe side."

He turned to the monitor screen where John was wiping his face with a washcloth, his whole arm shaking with the strain. "You should go see him, Rodney. He's going to build up a tolerance to the sedatives eventually, and when that happens… for now, we're trying longer periods between doses and he'd probably appreciate some company until his next one."

Rodney tried nodding but his neck muscles were so taut with tension it came out as more of a nervous tic.

"Good man, Rodney," Carson said with the kind of warm and reassuring smile only he could pull off and a firm pat on Rodney's shoulder.

As he left, Rodney couldn't help but think, _'If I'm so good, why don't I want to go in there?'_

------S--G---A-----

John smiled as Rodney entered his room and it made the pangs of guilt even sharper. He'd waited another ten minutes before working up the courage to go in and confront the echoes of his own brush with certain doom and all the baggage that carried.

Busying himself, distracting his eyes away from the man in the bed, Rodney made a career out of finding the more comfortable, padded chair. It was technically meant for patient use but the ones meant for visitors were stiff and cold, or at least he told himself so as he dragged the 'better' chair around to the side, then brushed the seat free of imaginary dirt

Once he got himself satisfactorily settled he finally allowed his gaze to fall on John's face. On his terribly ruined face.

The fresh shave had done little to improve the sallow, pale visage. His rheumy red eyes were painful to see, sunken and dry, yet glassy.

And his face, thin already in health, was now drawn and seemed almost a skin mask over his skull.

"Stop starin'."

Rodney started guiltily. Quickly averted his eyes then raised a hand to point a finger. "You, uh... You missed a spot."

He mimed a spot under his own right ear, then switched hands and pointed at his left with a waving index finger. "Shaving cream."

John scowled but picked up the washcloth in a shuddering hand and tried wiping where Rodney had indicated.

The smear of white froth remained in the deep hollow of his jaw under his ear.

"A little lower," Rodney squeaked out, before jamming his hands back in his pockets.

This time he actually had to pinch the flesh of his thighs through the thin cotton lining to keep from ripping the cloth from John's wavery grip and removing the offense himself.

Unbidden, a memory flashed him back to his spot in a very similar bed. Jeannie was coming. And though he had been told many times who Jeannie was and why it was important he look his best for her visit, his enfeebled, parasite-ruined brain couldn't grasp even that simplest of concepts. Family. But as John had drawn the plastic razor over Rodney's throat, talking about his sister and how much she was looking forward to seeing him, he had allowed the contact and the aid, because he trusted John intuitively.

Maybe he hadn't been as far gone as he'd believed.

John had dropped the cloth on the tray and his eyes had closed while he breathed slowly through the cannula under his nose.

The cream was still in its horrible little hidey hole.

"M-may I?" Rodney stuttered as he stood from his chair and pulled a hand free to point at the cloth.

John opened his bleary eyes and stared for a moment, then nodded.

Rodney quickly dispatched of the offending smear, dropped the cloth back down and pushed the tray away, busying himself with setting things right before daring to meet John's eyes again. He knew more than he cared to about the indignity of having to depend on others, and John… Proud, independent, Lieutenant Colonel, John… well this would be killing him faster than the disease.

Brusquely, Rodney wiped his hands with finality and re-took his seat, turning a smile on.

"So. Did Carson tell you the good news?"

John's answering smile was bleak. "Yeah. He knows what's killing me and how."

"Well, it is good news. I mean, you need to know what the problem is to find the fix, right?" His echoing of Carson's words sounded feeble even to his own ears.

"Sure." John's chuckle was more an asthmatic wheeze. He swallowed roughly and cleared his throat. "It's good news. Thanks, Rodney."

"It is," Rodney repeated way more firmly than either of them believed. "Carson'll whip up one of his Famous Homemade gene therapies and…" He faltered, foundering in a language he wasn't fluent in. "And it'll patch the… defect… and then…"

John was staring at him patiently, a smile tweaking the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, hell. I don't speak voodoo," Rodney finished. "Fine. Carson and Jennifer know, that's all that matters."

"Right." John closed his eyes and settled back into his pillows. "Anything new out there?"

"New? Um… let's see… um… well, like what?"

John swallowed again and sighed. "Rodney, I haven't been outa this bed in almost a week. Everything'll be new to me."

"Oh, right. Well, I wasn't sure … I mean, I wasn't sure if Teyla had… I mean, she's more the social butterfly than I am. She actually talks to… people."

John nodded knowingly. "So then tell me what's going on with 'not people'."

"Now that, I can do." He then regaled John with the results of several experiments his lab ducklings had been working on, the intriguing readings they gotten from a MALP sent to PX3-M09, a planet they were considering for at least a beta site, or maybe a gamma site if it was as cold as they suspected.

John had remained still, his eyes closed, a small smile curving his lips, but this last bit made his smile grow.

Rodney hmphed. "That's right. I forgot you're the snow lover. Snow days. All I can remember of the few we had was having to watch the Price is Right and Phil Donahue and getting a little more time in on the piano. Which I hated, by the way."

"Piano? Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Look, my mother thought it would make me better… socially. She said a boy who can play the piano at a party will always be popular."

"How'd that work out for you?" John asked after another swallow, his voice a little huskier.

"Considering I rarely got invited to parties in the first place… let's just say, the one time that the fates aligned and I was actually at a social gathering, _with_ a piano present, no one was blown away by my renditions of "Tiny Bubbles" or "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes." And then that big, cretinous lunk, Stewart Callum, sat down and plucked out _one part_ of "Heart and Soul" and Bridget Edwards cuddled up next to him to play the other part. It was…"

He stopped as he noticed John sitting up, his shaking hand attempting to cover his mouth as a cough wracked his thin frame.

"Oh, jeez." Rodney stood and faltered for a minute, then strode over to pat the hacking man on the back. "Breathe… just um…"

John sat back finally, tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. "Just a tickle," he croaked out.

"Well, why didn't you just…?" Rodney looked over to the tray he had offhandedly moved away, just out of reach. On it sat a glass with a straw and a plastic pitcher.

He grabbed up the tumbler and hesitated. "You want me to…?"

John glared at him and reached out to take the cup and bring the straw to his mouth. The water level was low enough that the shaking sloshed it around but it stayed in the cup.

After a few sips John exhaled slowly and handed the cup back. Rodney quickly pulled the tray closer and sat back down, frustration burning in his gut.

"I'm sorry. But you could've just asked for water."

"Wasn't a big deal," John rasped back angrily. "I just… this is just…" He fumed silently then balled his shaking hand into a fist. "It's—"

"Embarrassing? Humiliating? _Mortifying_?" Rodney bit out.

"Stop it, McKay. Just shut up."

Rodney took in a deep breath and held it, as if plunging into a pool of unknown and unexplored depth. And he was.

"Talk to me, John. If there is anyone that has even an inkling of what you are going through, it's me. I think I might know from humiliation. At least you aren't running the halls in your PJs, screaming like a four year old who's convinced there's a monster under his bed and wants his mommy. And it might do you to remember whose door I was banging on at three AM, too."

"I remember," John said quietly. He knuckled his eye with a shaky hand and inhaled deeply from his oxygen before frowning. "You still owe me a six of Bud."

Rodney chewed his lip, fighting the smile that would give him away. "No, I think I owe some guy named Arthur."

And in the first pleasant flash of memory that had been dredged up since John had become ill, Rodney remembered the cool breeze, the salt in the air, the tangy fizz of cold beer on his tongue, and enjoying a temporary harbor in a maelstrom.

-------S----G-----A----------

It was the fifth week, just as the hallucinations started, that Carson found the cure.

Ronon was pacing the office like a caged animal while the small group gathered around Jennifer's desk for what should've been a joyful celebration. Rodney tried staying in the conversation but he couldn't help but be distracted by the big man's activities.

"I do not understand," Teyla sighed. "I thought this was what all your work and effort was for."

Jennifer was balled up in her chair; the combined weight of all the eyes locked on her seemed too much for her small frame to carry.

"It was. It's just… John's EEG was showing occasional bursts of what we call microsleeps. The brain shuts down for a brief, usually unnoticed, period of time. Seconds at the most. Pauses in conversation, times when he's sedated. These microsleeps are what's been keeping him going for the most part."

Carson spoke up. His heavily bearded face and hooded eyes spoke of the long hours spent working on the therapy and the disappointment in the latest test findings.

"I've been working with a physician from Bologna, Italy. The preponderance of AFFI cases there has meant continuous research on the disease. His patients, too, experienced microsleep activity. Sedation helped, and he has some patients he's managed to keep alive for months… but when the microsleeps stopped, the patients deteriorated so quickly… och. I just wish I'd been faster. Maybe if I'd concentrated more on the aspargine- aspartic acid switch…"

Jennifer uncurled from her chair, shaking her head. "Carson, you did everything you could. We all did. We just…"

Rodney couldn't make heads or tails of what they were dithering about. And at this point, he wasn't afraid to tell anyone and everyone so.

He could hear Ronon seething in the background, the pound of his feet growing louder and faster as he paced. Teyla looked on the verge of tears.

"You two need to stop blathering in medicalese and tell us what the hell is going on with Sheppard!"

The two physicians exchanged heavy looks, then Jennifer sighed and collapsed back into her seat. "The EEG shows the microsleeps have stopped. It means that any thalamic brain tissue - the cells responsible for sleep- has been destroyed completely. Carson's gene therapy will repair the faulty gene and stop the miscoding of the amino acid responsible for the damage. But it'll be like… fixing the short after the house has already burned down. John's condition will continue to deteriorate, only more rapidly."

"What will happen?" Teyla asked dully.

"The hallucinations- they signal the start of the final stage. He'll begin having seizures, descend into a deep psychosis. His organ systems will fail and he'll become severely hyperthermic - he'll experience a high fever, like an overloaded engine. Then he'll… burn out."

Rodney could feel his eyes grow bigger, his stomach dropping as he listened to Jennifer's calmly spoken death sentence. The sound of a fist hitting something solid was no distraction this time as he tried to figure out how they had come to this. How things had gotten so bad, so fast. How their last minute save had been too late.

"When?" he heard his voice ask, so evenly when his emotions were in such turmoil.

"I'm not sure," Jennifer practically whispered. "A week. Maybe. We should probably contact his brother…"

A week. And from Jennifer's description, those seven days promised little beyond suffering and madness.

"Does he know?"

Carson sighed and there was almost a whimper at the end of it. "Aye. We talked to him first. His periods of lucidity are waning, and we felt it only right… I'm honestly not sure if it was the right decision… maybe if we had just let him…"

"He would've wanted to know." The group turned at Ronon's pronouncement. "You did right, telling him, doc."

Carson nodded silently but he slumped, misery weighing him down. "Thank you, big man. I hope you're right."

Teyla stood, her hands supporting her on the table in front of her. "I would like to see him, if it would be alright."

Jennifer tilted her head, then touched the radio at her ear, uttering words too quiet to hear. After a moment she smiled and nodded. "Marie says he's up for visitors." Her smile faltered and she chewed her lip. "I'm sure he'll appreciate your being there, Teyla. But you should know… he's experiencing cognitive difficulties… He may—"

Teyla raised a hand and stopped her. "I know. Thank you."

"Well, okay. Go on back then."

Teyla pushed off from the table, even her usual naturally graceful carriage affected, her head hung low and her back bowed.

Rodney watched as she paused at the doorway then seemed to steel herself before leaving. He knew how that felt.

"So you really saying there's nothing can be done for Sheppard?" Ronon asked.

"The brain damage is irreversible," Carson replied with a shake of his head.

"Brain damage? You mean like Dr. Weir had?"

Carson looked at Jennifer and she sat up and folded her hands.

"Actually, Dr Weir's damage was much more severe, more widespread. She was bleeding into her—"

"-- so fix Sheppard like you did Weir," Ronon broke in.

"I…" Jennifer paused and shook her head as she sank back into her seat. "I didn't fix Dr. Weir. The damage was too much. The nanites—"

"The nanites!" Rodney exclaimed with a snap of his fingers. "Exactly. We use nanites to repair the holes in his brain."

"Rodney… we can't use nanites. They're too dangerous. The Replicators—"

"-- Not Replicator nanites! Just plain old, ordinary nanites. Like the ones Henry Wallace was working on!"

Jennifer just shook her head harder. "Rodney, I thought the whole reason you and Wallace couldn't get them to work was because they weren't communicating with each other?"

"Yes, and Jeannie and I fixed that problem!"

"I thought when you made the nanites sentient that they became Replicators."

The beginning of a smile dawned on Carson's face. "You're right, big man, but they don't necessarily need to become sentient. With the right programming…" Then his face fell. "But the nanites medical program was stopped, Rodney. Wallace's lab and company have been completely dismantled and the SGC put a halt to all further research."

Rodney toed the floor and gave a sheepish smile. "They did. Officially."

"Rodney! You cheeky bugger. I don't know whether to kiss you or—"

"Been there, done that, Carson," Rodney said with a shiver. "Look, we don't exactly get a lot of down time around here but when there was… I had such success with Fran, and Elizabeth… well, it worked out for her. As far as it did."

"Rodney, the Asurans wiped out whole planets of people," Jennifer said, clearly horrified by his actions.

"I know that!" he spat back. "But the _possibilities_… and I knew… I know I can program them to fix Sheppard."

"You have nanites here, on Atlantis?" Ronon asked. Rodney couldn't tell if the Satedan was disgusted or impressed. Probably a little bit of both, knowing the man.

His head jerked in a nod. "Yes. Completely inert and shielded and… yes."

"Can you make them work?" Carson asked in almost a whisper.

"Can you make the gene therapy work?" Rodney shot back.

"Oh, aye. I can put the patch in place. It'll mean no future deterioration of the brain tissue as the amino acid will now code correctly."

"Do it." He tapped his ear radio. "Zelenka, this is McKay."

_"How is Colonel Sheppard doing, Rodney?"_

"I'll send your regards. Look, you know how you've been bugging me about my after hours activities?"

_"I don't believe I've ever asked you about anything you do—"_

"You didn't have to, you nosy little Czech. I found your attempts to hack into my files."

_"… Rodney, I—"_

"Never mind. You're about to get your Golden Ticket to the Wonka Factory. And grab Bissell, Wujkovits, and, and… aah… hell. That should do it. Meet me in my lab in ten."

He tapped his radio, cutting Zelenka off, and pointed a finger at Carson. "What are you waiting for?"

"Rodney," Jennifer spoke up. "We should probably talk to Woolsey about this. He might have something to say about using nanite technology… he is SGC, after all."

"I'll talk to him. He won't say no," Ronon said with a growl.

Rodney smiled at that. "No, a sane man wouldn't."

"You know… there is one more person you should ask first," Carson said uneasily.

"We're offering him his life! Why wouldn't he want this?"

Jennifer frowned. "Rodney, Carson offered him stasis, to give us more time to work on the problem. John was very clear, adamant that we not use it. He may have similar qualms about the use of nanites. He argued against it for Elizabeth…"

"Well, I convinced him then. I'll convince him again."

* * *

Teyla was holding his hand. Teyla was holding his hand and she wasn't scared. She was running her fingers over his brow, cooing softly spoken words to him and she wasn't scared.

So that meant the wraith in the room wasn't real. Its teeth weren't really dripping with saliva. Its hand, feeding mouth like a gaping wound, wasn't really stretching toward his chest.

They had told him repeatedly it wasn't real. And neither was Kolya. The Genii could sometimes be seen leaning in the doorway, mocking him. Laughing at him. And the visit from Ford that had left him weeping. That hadn't been real either.

He still wasn't sure about the visage that had visited him before. When before? The daysnightsminuteshours had all blended into one. The light in his little room went up a little when the morning nurses came on duty and went off when they did. The only constants were the tiny red blinking light on the camera and the cool blue glow of the readouts on the machinery that surrounded him.

No, the face of Carson had left him confused. The nurse had spoken to him, but Carson was dead. And he was telling John that he was going to join him soon. In death. He knew because Carson looked so sad. Bereft even.

And now Teyla looked sad, too. He turned to place his forehead against hers. The warmth of her smooth skin on his was comforting. He could feel her heart beat through their connection. This. This was real. Not the wraith or Kolya. Or Ford.

Then he felt water on his face and he pulled away. A tear dripped down his cheek and he tasted salt on his lips.

"I'm… I'm so sorry, John," Teyla sighed as she wiped her eyes.

"Don't cry, Teyla," he whispered. "The wraith isn't real."

But that only made her sob harder. So maybe it was real?

"No, John," Teyla choked out with a firm shake of her head. "The wraith isn't real." She squeezed his hand tightly and looked into his eyes. "The wraith isn't real. I'm sorry."

"I know it isn't," he said with a smile. "You are." He pondered for a moment, then looked down at his blanket.

"Was Carson?"

"Oh, John… yes. Carson is real. And he has found a cure for you. Please have faith in that. _That_ is real."

"Can I sleep yet? I'd…" He hated the pitiful sound of his voice. The way his thoughts scrambled and words tripped on their way off his tongue. The pathetic pleas he was forced to make for everything.

Teyla's voice was thick with tears. "Not yet, John. But soon… I promise." Then she stood and turned her back to him and all he could see of her was her head bent, her small frame shaking.

"No, no, no!" Rodney stood at the doorway where Kolya usually hung about. He strode halfway into the room, then hesitated before approaching closer. "No tears. Oh, come on, Teyla. Please?"

Teyla turned, hastily swiping a hand across her face as she did. "Rodney. I'm sorry. I --"

"It's- it's okay. I'm just really not good with tears… girl -- w-woman tears. Now my own…" He smirked and Teyla coughed out a laugh as she wiped under her eye.

Rodney turned to John and raised a hand in greeting. Rodney wasn't sad. He was smiling, ear to ear.

At least Teyla looked as mystified as John felt.

"_I_ am the bearer of good news. For a change. I always seem to have to make the 'we're all doomed' speeches around here."

"Rodney? What are you talking about?" Teyla asked as she took her seat back and wrapped John's hand in hers.

"I'm talking about fixing Sheppard."

"Fixing him?"

John's eyes tried keeping up with their conversation but his father had popped in for a visit. Steel blue eyes, square jaw, perpetual-seeming frown.

Patrick Sheppard shot his wrist free from his French cuff and eyed his wristwatch, his frown deepening. The gesture was so achingly familiar.

Then his father's face softened and he smiled at John. "It's okay, Johnny my boy. We have time still."

"Dad?"

His father opened his mouth to answer but all John heard was the loud snapping of fingers.

Rodney was next to his bed, now grabbing his arm and shaking him.

"You have to listen to me, Sheppard! You have to hear me."

"I… Rodney…"

"Just! Just listen to me. This is very important."

John nodded solemnly and tried to ignore the snake winding its way up Rodney's leg.

"I can fix you," Rodney said slowly and clearly.

"Fix… me?"

"Yes. I can make you better, Sheppard. But I need to know… they need to know you're on board with this."

"On board?"

Rodney sighed and wiped a hand down his face. Then he pulled over one of the chairs and pulled it up next to the bed. "Snow days."

John smiled at that.

"Good. You remember. We kept getting sidetracked by... well, me. You were going to tell me about snow days."

John rubbed at his eyes with a shaky hand but sat up straighter in bed, because Rodney seemed almost desperate to know.

"My mom would come... Turn off my alarm... wake me up. Just to tell me I could go back to sleep."

Rodney's eyebrows rose and John laughed wheezily. "I could always go… back to sleep. Or just lay there. Warm. Soft. It made it better… knowing."

Rodney nodded and glanced at Teyla who was glued to the conversation. "I used to set my alarm on the weekend just so I could turn it off, roll over and go back to sleep."

John nodded and tapped Rodney's arm.

"My dad would be at work." John frowned and looked over to see if his father heard. Patrick Sheppard looked sad and averted his eyes.

"He…"

"He what?"

"He would make it to work… in a tornado." John scowled and refused to look any more at his father.

"But you were home," Rodney urged.

"Me… Dave. We'd build snow forts. Snow… grenades." John smiled and even Teyla joined in with a sad smile of her own.

"We'd go in… when it got dark. Dad would still… he'd still be at work. Mom always smiled more when…"

His mom. Thick, dark hair. Sad, brown eyes. A soft, cool hand smoothing over his brow. Curled on her chair doing her favorite crossword puzzles.

Teyla squeezed his hand and was looking into his eyes.

"John?"

"Sorry." He cleared his throat and turned back to Rodney. "She always made hot chocolate with…"

"Those tasteless marshmallow bits," Rodney finished with a knowing nod. Then he threw his head back and yelled, "Did you get all that? He's as lucid as he's gonna get!"

A hand to his ear and a smug smile later, Rodney snorted, "Good."

"Listen closely, Sheppard. I'm going to fix you. With nanites."

John shook his head and pulled back against his pillows. "No… Rodney. Elizabeth…"

"Listen to me, John! I promise you that this will work and you will not wind up like Elizabeth. These nanites will have one job and one job only, and when they are done they will self-destruct."

Teyla was staring wide-eyed at Rodney. "Can this really work?"

"It can. It can and it will. John, please. I am begging you to trust me on this."

John looked into Rodney's pleading eyes. He remembered Rodney readying for Ascension, trusting in John to help prepare him.

_"Look, if it's not too much trouble, I'd like you to read my eulogy."_

_"I refuse to discuss that."_

Cradling Rodney's head in his hands as he drew a razor over his face before Jeannie's arrival. The fear in Rodney's eyes as he screamed at John's door.

_"I'm not saying goodbye…. You're stuck with me, Rodney. Just accept it."_

His dad stepped up behind Rodney. "Go ahead, son; take the leap. What've you got to lose, Johnny my boy?"

"Rodney… you have to promise me… if I … if it goes wrong. I don't want… oh, god. Elizabeth." He could feel tears springing to his eyes.

"John, I swear to you on her memory. This will work. Do you trust me?"

John sighed and tasted salt again, this time his own. "I… I trust you, Rodney."

* * *

"Rodney, if this is going to work, we have to do it now."

"Yes! I'm well aware of that fact." He pounded angrily at his data pad, grimacing at the results.

"If it's not working then we need to start thinking of John's comfort."

He looked up to see Jennifer standing in her usual infirmary garb in the doorway.

"He's severely febrile, Rodney," she said calmly. Too calmly. She had already adopted the excruciatingly placid demeanor of the doctor who has given up, called the code off, and was ready to inform the family.

"His seizures are almost continuous… the surgery is going to be a strain on him as it is, and I don't think we can wait any longer."

"I can get it to work," he spat as he returned to his data, growling in frustration at another bug in the programming.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jennifer step into the medlab. "Rodney, we have ways of making this… less painful for him. I need to know if this can be done or not. It isn't fair to John--"

"Don't! don't you dare make out like I'm being unfair to him! You think I've liked knowing what he's been going through these last few days? Do you?" He tore at his hair before plugging another set of data into the computer.

"No, I don't," she replied softly. "I know you've been working hard, Rodney. John knows it, too. But maybe it's time to accept…"

"What? That I've failed? I made all these grand promises and now I'm going to let him down?" He turned desperate eyes on her. "Jen… he trusted me to save him. He still trusts me to do this. I just need a little more time."

She nodded slowly then jerked her chin at the computer. "What's the problem?"

"It's the final self-destruct sub-routine," he sighed. "They'll work now, they'll repair the brain damage, but…"

"You promised him the nanites would be gone afterward."

He chewed hard on his lip, almost drew blood. "Yes."

"I can scrub up, Rodney. Get John prepped for the procedure. It'll take about half an hour… I… I won't wait any longer, I'm sorry. I can't, not with John's best interests in mind. If we use them as is, will they harm him in any way?"

"No," he admitted begrudgingly. "But I'm not sure… I'm not sure he'll forgive me."

"He has to be alive to forgive you, Rodney." She gave him a light peck on the cheek then turned and left the medlab.

Rodney returned once more to cursing at his computer.

------S----G----A-----

The glass enclosed surgical suite was cramped with people and machinery, all surrounding the shell of what was left of Lt Colonel John Sheppard. Rodney had a front row seat in the observation room above.

John was laid out on the operating table, blue cloth drapes covering him from the waist to his knees. A myriad of wires ran from his chest and head, connecting him to some of the half dozen sets of monitors.

His fever had soared to 107 and only a last minute, hasty ice bath dunking had managed to get his temperature back down to the point what was left of his brain wouldn't boil in his skull. His hair still dripped with moisture.

Another convulsion wracked his body, his hands and legs twitching, his back arching up off the table as the scrubs and masks clad doctors and nurses continued their preparations.

Rodney startled as a nearby speaker crackled to life and Carson's lilting voice drifted into the viewing area. "Right then. You all know your part in this. If it so pleases you, a little prayer never hurts. And Godspeed to all of us."

The crew in the suite all paused for the briefest of moments, then descended on John's recumbent form.

A tube was swiftly inserted into his throat and taped off to the side; the ventilator joined the bank of equipment. John's arms and legs were pulled off to the sides and strapped down tightly, then another was buckled across his chest.

The next step was one of the most barbaric things Rodney had ever witnessed, and though it had been explained to him as being the least invasive way of getting the nanites to the thalamus, even seeing the preparation made his knees wobble.

Apparently he either wasn't alone in this anxiety or his freak out was visible, because he felt Teyla's hand knit in his. He spared a glance over and she smiled, that warm and comforting look that only a mom could truly convey.

"This will work, Rodney," she said quietly. "I have faith in them and in you."

"Me too," came grunted from behind him. He felt massive paws land on his shoulders, shaking him, then an arm wrapping around his chest as he was drawn backwards into a quick, if not a bit choking, hug from Ronon.

"I'm glad you do," Rodney mumbled in embarrassment. "My last run," he ventured hesitantly. "I - I'm not usually one to brag but --" He heard Ronon snort behind him "-- Okay, I am, but… on second thought… that whole knocking on wood thing, not tempting the fates…. Maybe I'll just shut up now."

Teyla squeezed his hand and they returned to watching the rest of the procedure.

John's mouth had been pried open with a metal frame of retractors. His head was tilted back at an extreme angle and had also been strapped into place.

Another seizure shook his body, evidenced now by the strain against the leather bonds and the rapid blinking of his eyes.

"Versed's on board!" came a voice from behind one of the masks.

Jennifer's voice ordered the pancuronium that would paralyze John for the insertion of the nanites. Without the use of general anesthesia, Jennifer had explained that the curare based paralytic would freeze John in place and the Versed would be an amnesia inducer, allowing him to forget what took place. The pain during the procedure would be dulled as best as possible but John would, of course, be awake for the whole thing.

The Versed would be a blessing… afterwards.

A scanner was rolled into place next to John's head; an image of his brain in three dimensions appeared on the monitor. Even Rodney could see the white hollows where thalamic tissue was supposed to be.

Jennifer accepted a syringe from a surgical tech, then leaned over and spoke into John's ear, too quietly to be heard. But he nodded against the strap and closed his eyes.

The paralytic was pushed into his IV as they wheeled over a stainless steel frame with a long metal hypodermic needle attached on an articulated arm. The needle was maneuvered into place under John's chin and then eased up and into his mouth until it met the upper palate.

There was another collective breath held, then Rodney slammed his eyes shut, knowing that the needle was being pushed through the roof of John's mouth and into his brain. The nanites would be deployed and the needle removed, but oh, god. John would be awake but paralyzed the whole time.

He knew it was happening as Teyla's hand gripped his so tightly he thought she'd fracture every bone, and Ronon's hands were back on his shoulders, squeezing so hard Rodney knew he'd have ten finger shaped bruises there later.

When he felt the two ease off he reluctantly opened his eyes.

All that preparation for a procedure that had taken literally thirty seconds.

The straps were being removed from John's extremities, head and chest. Another nurse was suctioning off bloody saliva from his mouth. And Carson held John's head in his hands as he used soft gauze pads to wipe away the tears that streamed out of John's eyes.

-------S----G----A------

They moved John back to his room and reconnected him to the EEG. His fever was rising again but once they had him settled back in his bed, no one seemed willing to put him through another ice bath.

So instead they brought in basins with cool water and Teyla and a nurse bathed his face and chest with washcloths. He barely stirred under their ministrations, only occasionally opening his eyes to slits, staring glassily at seemingly nothing. Then his lips moved, but the intubation wouldn't allow his words to be voiced.

No one was saying it, but Rodney felt the weight of all their hopes and expectations. Elizabeth's 'repair' had been so swift, and John seemed even worse than before the procedure. Tremors shook his pale, thin body under the sheet and his legs moved restlessly.

Teyla flashed a silent question at Jennifer.

"The pancuronium has a rapid half-life," she noted clinically. "It's already wearing off."

When another small seizure arched his body off the bed, Jennifer sighed and pulled a syringe from the smock she'd hastily donned over her scrubs. After administering the medication, John settled down, seeming to almost melt into the bed.

Ronon stood at the rear, arms crossed, and Rodney could feel his eyes piercing the back of his head.

"Look, these nanites aren't the same as the ones Elizabeth had in her system. These are decidedly more stripped down versions, with minimal coding. They may not be fancy but they'll work. Just…" He locked eyes with Teyla and smiled. "Have some faith."

She nodded back and returned to wiping the cloth down John's arm.

The room went quiet save for the sounds from the bank of monitors. John had gone completely still and for a moment, Rodney's breath caught in his throat. The steady rise and fall of his chest from the ventilator was the man's only sign of life.

"I don't believe it. I bloody well don't believe it." Carson looked up from the monitor showing John's EEG readings.

Jennifer took one look at the monitor and whispered. "Oh my god. It… he's in delta. Real delta wave sleep! Sleep spindles! My god, Carson, do you see them?"

"Aye, love," Carson confirmed equally quietly but with a blaringly loud grin. "I see 'em." He reached over and grabbed Rodney into a bear hug, clapping him on the back fervently.

"Well done, Rodney. Bloody well done."

Rodney smiled into Carson's shoulder and he decided the occasion demanded a little more modesty than his usual. "You and Jennifer gave me - gave Sheppard the time to get it done." Then he returned Carson's hug, albeit briefly, before finally pulling free.

Of course, Ronon had to be next, engulfing Rodney so that now he was smiling into the big man's armpit. "Okay, Chewie, okay. Down boy."

Once free of all the maybe not too annoying shows of affection, Rodney looked carefully at Jennifer. "Is this going to be enough?" he asked with a soft voice.

Her smile only lessened slightly. "I think it will be Rodney. We'll monitor his brain chemistry and EEG readings. He'll probably sleep for a day or two while his system rights itself. It's not a hundred percent, of course." Then she smirked. "But I have faith."

* * *

John awakened to softly muted voices. He had no idea where he was, but at that particular moment he didn't really care. Because he was warm. The chill that had been his constant companion was gone and he was cocooned in something warm and soft. To be like this, for the rest of his days, would allow him to die a happy man. He stirred a little, pulled his hands down even deeper next to him and sighed long and low. He wondered briefly if this was what it felt like for babies in swaddling clothes.

"He's going to suffocate!" The voice was a harsh stage whisper.

"Rodney!" someone hissed back. "Shhh!"

"At least pull back the covers a little and see if he's still breathing!"

"Settle, Rodney. The monitors show everything the way they're supposed to be. His O2 sats are perfectly normal."

"And his EEG is back to beta. He's awake," came a smug female voice.

"Well, it's about time. Jeez, you said he'd sleep a couple of days. In no way is four a couple."

Then John felt a sliver of cool air as his blanket was pulled back.

"Colonel? Can you wake up more for me?"

He kept his eyes closed and snuggled down further, away from the intrusion.

"Come on, John. You need to wake up now."

He groaned and rolled away, wincing at the soreness in his muscles and joints.

"Easy, John. Slow and easy. I'm going to raise the head a little. Can you try opening your eyes?"

He heard the slight hint of worry in what he had now recognized as Jennifer's voice so he gamely pried one eyelid open part way.

She laughed and pulled the covers back further. "Halfway there. Come on, John. I think we've waited long enough."

Finally he got the other eye open, staring blearily at the five faces currently fixed on him. He stretched, hesitantly at first, then with another groan managed to work most of the kinks out of his neck and back.

He blinked, then smiled as his eyes closed back down. "Tired," he finally managed to rasp out.

His eyes quickly reopened as he felt something icy on his chest; Jennifer had stuck a stethoscope down the front of his gown. "Jeeez, doc. Give man s'warning…" His glare was equally sloppy.

"Sorry," she said, too perkily. But she wasn't really, because then she was pushing him forward and the still too damn cold bell was on his back. He flinched but held still, and took a stuttering breath when demanded.

Ronon, Teyla, Rodney and Carson surrounded his bed, smiling as Jennifer continued her exam. John couldn't remember the last time he'd seen so many smiles.

He finally managed to fix his bleary gaze on Rodney. "Worked?"

Rodney bounced on his toes and accepted a pound on the back from Ronon. "Yup. Like a charm. Of course, I never had a doubt."

Then John frowned as he remembered. "They gone?"

"Every last one of them," Rodney practically crowed. "Scanner proves it; not a single solitary one left in your system. They're uh, probably… you know. In there." He wrinkled his nose and gestured at what John assumed was his Foley bag.

"Leave'm there, McKay. Oh hey, cold hands, doc."

"Sorry."

"But they're the only ones! Wallace's lab has been completely dismantled and--"

John gave Ronon a look and the big man obliged him with a punch to Rodney's shoulder.

"Ow! Okay, fine! But don't come crying to me when we need them again."

"Well, everything is looking much improved," Jennifer said as she wrapped up her stethoscope and stuck it in her pocket. "I'm thinking you might see your own bed in a week or so."

"This one's okay f'r now," John mumbled as he settled back into the pillows and pulled the blanket to his chin.

"I am happy to see you doing so much better, John," Teyla told him as she stepped up to place her forehead to his. She smelled like baby powder.

"How's the li'l guy?"

"He is doing wonderfully, but he is very anxious to see his Uncle John."

"Och, you should bring the wee bairn round later, Teyla," Carson said. "I'd be happy to entertain the little man while you visit with John."

John laid back, basking in the conversation as Carson and Teyla wandered off to talk. Ronon gripped his leg through the blanket and told him he looked like hell and needed to get more sleep. Jennifer excused herself to get some work done in her office, and soon it was just Rodney sitting next to the bed.

"You know, Ronon's right. You do look like hell."

John opened his mouth to protest but it turned into a jaw cracking yawn. "Slept for… d'you say four days?"

"Four," Rodney confirmed. "But, considering what you're making up for…"

"Done good, Rodney. Thanks."

His friend waved his gratitude away. "I think we can forget about the six pack, hm?"

John smiled. "Forgotten." He blinked slowly, then again, and each time his eyes stayed closed longer.

"Oh, for… Just…" Rodney's voice came closer to the bed. "It's a snow day, John. You can go back to sleep."

And John did.

~The end.~


End file.
